


This Is How I Show My Love

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark!Matt, Devil!Matt, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Gore, Graphic Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Murder, Organs, Sexual Tension, Stalking, Violence, self inflicted harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I feel, Foggy.” and suddenly the man is behind him, and, just like always, is pressing up against him as if trying to merge their bodies as one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How I Show My Love

**Author's Note:**

> I want to take a moment to just thank you guys so much for all of the love I have been receiving for these fics. I am honestly so happy that you guys are enjoying them so much. Thank you so so much!
> 
> You know when you write, and you feel like you've finished the piece a million times, but somehow manage to add more shit? Yeah, how I felt with this. It just kept growing, my god!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! Just know going in that this fic, in my opinion, is very heavy in terms of gore and violence.
> 
> Title taken from: SAIL by Awolnation

Foggy snaps out of it with a jerk. He looks up and around in confusion and sees that all the lights in the office are off - except his own, and that the sun has set and the moon is high in the sky.

He blinks, and after a moment remembers Karen wishing him a good night with tired eyes and a wave, shutting off the main lights and bathing him in darkness.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, then over his face. He stretches, groaning as his back pops and cracks.

As he bends back, his eye catches the clock on the wall. The time half past two in the morning. He swears, and sighs again. Standing, he starts shuffling his papers into a pile, deciding he can sort them later. He closes his lap top and places his things inside his bag. The lamp goes off with a click and he grabs his coat off the rack as he passes it.

He stops at the door, hesitant. He presses his lips together, rubbing them back and forth. With a deep breath he opens the door, and locks it.

He begins walking in the direction of home.

Hell's Kitchen didn't always have a curfew. There were always dangerous and unsavoury things happening. Drug cartels and gang wars. Power hungry men with a way of getting and doing exactly what they want. But none of that had made the ten blocks of mid-town Manhattan shut down just before eleven at night . People hurrying down the street as if being chased when their watches read there was only five minutes left of guaranteed safety.

That changed one day, when a man they now call Devil showed up.

At first, everyone was ecstatic. Well, as most as one can be when they find out the city has yet another psychopath running around the city. But this man seemed to be here for the good. For the protection of the people, fighting for the well-being of the city.

It didn't take long for people to realize they couldn't be more wrong.

Yes, the man goes after the higher-ups. Saving people from fates they don't deserve, burning the word of God into the skin of sinners.

That's what he was; a God send. But his ways of dealing with these people left a bad taste in the mouths of every citizen, and a nagging stab of constant fear in their minds.

It had started with news reports of vicious attacks that were believed to be those of wild dogs. Limbs found by joggers in the woods. Legs in rivers, a hand stuck in a bush here, thighs found hacked and eaten at in the middle of public spaces there.

The story of the wild dogs was believed for months, and citizens were warned away from heavily forested areas during any time of night.

But then there was a head found by a little girl in the public park's sand box. A perfect cut. The mans eyes first thought missing, then found resting on his tongue. That changed things, and the cases were re-evaluated as murders.

And then there were the organs.

Nailed over the door steps of corporations and big businesses. The homes of known top-dogs. Found still warm and dripping as the sun rose over the horizon, much to the shock of mail-carriers and the first person to let the dog out in the morning.

And all fingers pointed to the Devil.

To this day, there is still no clear understanding or reason for why he does what he does. The man himself, doesn’t seem to want to tell the public, and the public is grasping straws.

So they do what they can to hopefully ensure they won't be the next person opened up and their organs used as Christmas decorations.

They stay inside.

So, not even three months into their new visitors stay, a curfew was set in place, and to ensure the safety of everyone, no one was to be outside past eleven p.m.

'I'll be fine.' Foggy thinks. And he will be. He's two blocks away from his apartment and he hasn't seen another soul since he left twenty minutes ago. And, there's no nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him he's being followed. No chills, no gut feeling.

He'll be fine.

\--

The anniversary of this mad man showing up is approaching. Three years in October marking the day the man showed up like some sort of Halloween party trick, but turning out to be more like the movie.

Though Halloween marked the day that the man in the mask entered their lives, the people of Hell's Kitchen were determined to keep the Holiday as jovial and happy as it can be. Parents taking their kids out door-to-door for tasty treats, teenagers and young adults staying out with the wolves to party and forget responsibility.

And that's how the following Halloween went. Houses covered in decorations and fake spider webs. Painted faces and fairy princess consumes running from house-to-house with their pumpkin head baskets.

It was as quiet and peaceful an evening as children could make it.

Until the sun set.

Most were already home, tucked in and in bed for school the next day. But as always, there were kids and teenagers who power on, getting as much candy as they can until their feet and parents protest.

Then the sun set, and people dressed as the cities vigilante came out to play.

Holding sacks full of fake organs and blood, they terrorized anyone still out. Screaming as they ran through the streets with black masks over their faces, dousing people with jars of the blood and laughing high-pitched and gleeful and people broke down in panic.

\--

He had met the Devil for the first time in mid-December.

Foggy saw the men running in his direction, and judging by their wear, he figured he was right to assume that they weren't late night joggers. So he did what almost anyone would do; he ducked into one of the many alleyways lining the street, and waited for them to pass, praying none of them would notice him.

Sadly, he was praying for the ignorance of the wrong man.

He had felt his presence. Could feel his body react to the knowledge that there was another person where he was, and only guessing his intentions, his body tensed and heart pounded widely in anticipation of something unpleasant. A cold sweat broke out over his body causing him to shiver, and he kept his eyes tightly closed.

He was shaking when he felt the man lean over him, chest touching his own, breath hot against his mouth. He heard the sound of leather drag across the brick of the wall, close to his ears.

He let out a shudder when the man spoke.

“Which way did they go?”

Foggy swallowed hard, fear shaking him to his very core. He didn't know how he knew, but his mind was screaming at him that this was the one everyone was talking about. The man that news reporters, journalists, and Police Officers were warning the public about. Broadcasts that reached the whole of New York as a precaution. The man that they quickly dubbed 'The Devil' when his true intentions and graphic actions were made clear.

He also knew that this man had been chasing those other men, which explained why there were running. They literally had the devil chasing their heels. So in the midst of his fear and panic, Foggy felt confusion. The Devil was chasing them. He had them. Why did he stop?

Foggy opened his eyes, and found himself staring into the eyes of darkness. “They...they kept going straight.”

The Devil smiled. “Thank you, darling.”

Then the man reached out, and dragged a gloved finger softly down Foggy's cheek, smile still in place.

And then he was gone, and Foggy's legs buckled out from underneath him.

\--

December 18, to be exact.

Now Foggy is the type of person who remembers birthdays and important dates after being told once. He doesn't want to be that person who forgets and has to live with the guilt and embarrassment for as long as his mind holds onto it.

So, when he finds a box on his door step exactly a year later, Foggy can't help but wonder if he's missed something. Or, if the box had simply gone to the wrong apartment.

But when he finds his name written on a tag while he searches the outside, he guesses that it is, in fact, for him.

So he opens it.

And then wishes he hadn't.

He has exactly five seconds of time between dropping the box in shock, and emptying the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

The gift is a human heart. Warm, still wet, with his name carved into it.

He has received the same gift for the past two years.

\--

“Why do you fear me?” is whispered against his neck. Teeth too much like fangs drag across his skin, but the lips that sooth the burn are soft and gentle. The Devil chuckles when he shivers, the laugh rumbling deep in his chest. Foggy feels it against the palm that sits over the mans heart.

“I don't,” Foggy says, choking out the words through a closed throat. His breathing is shaky, coming out sounding like gasps. His body betrays his mind, and he's clutching onto the man with everything he has. Fingers digging into his clothing, a hand holding his head still.

“Only naughty children lie. Are you naughty? Do you lie?”

Foggy blinks up, looking at the sky. It's cloudy, like it always seems to be. Clouds passing over the moon. Tears escape as he watches, and he lets out a shaky breath when a tongue licks them away.

“Where are you looking, darling? God is here with you.”

“Is he?”

“Yes. All you have to do, is look for Him.”

“What if...what if I can't find him?”

The Devil smiles, cupping his cheek with a hand. He moves closer, removing the smallest gap he allowed between them. As his body blanket’s Foggy's, he places a kiss on his lips. He hums when Foggy kisses back.

“Then look harder.”

\--

“How's my favourite law-man?” Karen asks as she walks in the door. She walks over and places breakfast down on Foggy's desk before taking her coat off and draping it across the back of the chair.

Foggy looks up and she's staring at him. A look of worry on her face as she sits down and begins opening the box.

“I'm all right.”

Karen lowers her head and then tilts it out, eyebrows raising. “Are you sure that's the answer you want to go with?”

When Foggy sighs and shakes his head, Karen gives him a sympathetic smile. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah.” Foggy says, dragging the word out. He rubs his face with his hands and thanks Karen when she passes him a coffee and bagel.

They eat in silence. Karen patiently waiting for Foggy to tell her the truth, and Foggy trying to figure out how best to not freak out his best friend.

“I saw him again last night.”

Karen raises her eyebrows, and that's all it takes. Foggy spills.

After he had had his first “meeting” with the Devil, Foggy lasted about a week in keeping said meeting a secret. At first, he thought he would be able to deal with it on his own, but after days of being on edge and jumpy, all it took was for Karen to look at him and ask if he really was okay for him to tell her everything he could remember about that night.

And thus began their regular talks about the man and his crimes and his regular visits with Foggy.

Karen, while wary of the Devil, has some sort of respect and admiration for him. Claiming that while his methods of work are unconventional and very much illegal, that she somewhat agrees with what he stands for.

But that doesn't stop her from getting that look in her eyes whenever Foggy brings him up. How she watches him so closely as if picking up every micro expression and tick. Her eyes filling with worry and looking so much older and tired then they should be.

He hates that he worries her. If there was anything he could do to make it stop, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he has a feeling that's exactly what he would have to give up to make it stop.

But without fail, Karen is there to listen and to offer advice. Answering the phone in the dead of night to talk Foggy through panic attacks and taking him out on Friday's so they can drink until they can laugh at everything.

And now, listening and watching as he talks with tears trailing down his face, tears in her own eyes. A hand over his, holding it tight.

\--

“I feel...like that would be best...” Karen says with the squint of her eyes, looking straight ahead. Foggy lets out a huff of a laugh and smiles.

They're on their way to the coffee shop just around the corner from their office, walking arm and arm as Karen talks about what she wants to order. Her seriousness when deciding what coffee order best suits her mood and the vibe of the day never fails to make Foggy laugh. The far away look she gets in her eyes as she thinks hard about it before deciding with a triumphant smile on what she'll have.

Today, is an iced caramel macchiato.

And Foggy agrees. The weather is cooler now that September is coming to an end. The lasting threads of the summer heat finally gone making going outside no longer horrible. But as the days grow darker and more grey, the need for something summery is called for.

Karen laughs when Foggy opens the door for her with an exaggerated bow, and she returns the gesture with a hand over her heart and an equally ridiculous curtsey.

As they wait in line, Karen reads the menu boards and Foggy looks around the cafe. It's fairly busy for it being mid-afternoon. The longer tables taken over by students with laptops and school work, suits with blue-tooths. A group of what looks to be thirteen year-olds in a corner booth talking animatedly, and then a few elderly people scattered her and there, sipping on small, steaming black coffees.

He moves his attention to the things in front of them, and his eyes are caught by the newspaper stand.

**DEVIL ROBS MAN BLIND**

And Foggy feels his eye widen at the picture underneath the heading. It's of the obvious crime scene, nothing hidden or left out. The victim is roped to a tree. Head nailed into the trunk, mouth open as well as his eyes. But there's nothing there. His eyes are gone, and in their places are block holes surrounded by pink scratches and red rings.

He must make some sort of noise because he feels Karen turn beside him and hears her sharp intake of breath, indicating she must see what he does.

“Jesus fuck they'll allow anything on newspapers nowadays!” Karen says with a look of incredulous as she leans past him and turns it around. She looks back at Foggy with an apologetic look and he shrugs halfheartedly. He feels horrible, seeing this mans fate broadcast to the entire city like this. But the truth is that he's witnessed so much worse in real time, that seeing such brutality printed in ink isn't anything anymore.

He spares a thought to how much time he'd have to do if the police ever found out just how many murders he's witnessed...or was given the organs from, regardless of the fact it has always been against his will and want.

“I can't believe they let that pass. Children can see that, not to mention it's downright disgusting.” Karen says, gesturing to the booth at the back. She folds her arms over her person and frowns, her jaw tensing, face red.

Foggy places a hand on her back in silent agreement and comfort as they step up to order.

\--

“I saw the newspaper today.” Foggy says in a desperate attempt to defuse the intensity. The Devil dropped into his path roughly twenty minutes ago, and for the past twenty minutes has been standing there, doing nothing.

Foggy can say that while this isn't as terrifying as it once was, it still makes him nervous and fidgety and just plain stressed. He can feel his body rejecting this and wanting to go away and calm down before he overheats and melts.

“You did?” The Devil asks, his voice calm and quiet.

Foggy nods. “Front page. You killed that man.”

The Devil nods slowly and takes a step forward. Foggy takes a step back. The Devil smiles.

“He was filth. He hurt his own flesh and blood in indescribably ways. There was no other option.”

Foggy swallows and nods, looking down at the ground as he understands what he's being told. He learned early on that while the Devil is a violent and destructive man, he has yet to tell a lie. Regardless of his scout like honour in that sense, Foggy wishes he wasn't so quick to believe him.

But with that knowledge he finds himself feeling somewhat...okay with the mans fate. Punishment. He still feels a sickening feeling roll through his stomach whenever he pictures the newspaper photo, however. But the guilt of his public humiliation is gone and being replaced with a crawling satisfaction.

Hands softly cups his cheeks and his head is titled up. The Devil leans forward, and rests his forehead against Foggy's, his voice breathless as he asks,

“Do you agree he deserved death, Foggy?”

\--

He sings the song as slowly as he can. The words are in a language that Foggy has never heard before, but the man sings them with a confidence and strength that implies he's know it all his life.

The sound of his boots against the pavement is the only other sound he's making. He twirls as he walks and there's a slight jump in his step.

He's in a good mood.

Foggy flinches when he hears a hoarse scream followed by the sound of blood smacking the floor.

\--

“All I want is to sleep for roughly a billion years.” Foggy muffles into his arms. He's tired to the point of annoyance. His bones feel like mush and his head is pounding in every part of his brain, especially behind his eyes. He feels sick and weary and wants nothing more then to collapse on his bed and sleep forever.

Karen sighs and he hears the click of her kitten heels as she walks over. She pats his head and takes a seat on the corner of his desk.

“Well, there's not much gong on here.” she says, gesturing to the room and its emptiness. “How about we call it a day, and go home early for once.”

There's never much going on. Not to say that they never have any clients, because they have a steady flow of people coming in needing their help. But ever since the Devil came into the picture there has been a noticeable decline in clients. Mainly because the man kills the problem before lawyers and police officers can do anything about it.

So with a sigh of his own, Foggy agrees, and for once they lock up and go home early.

Foggy wakes up suddenly. His heart is hammering in his chest and he tries to focus on why but any remnants of his dream is fading far too quickly for him to catch. After a moment he sits up and takes a deep breath.

He gets up and when he opens his bedroom door, the air shifts. It's colder now, and the hairs along his arms stand up and goosebumps surface all over his body as a nagging feeling starts picking at the back of his mind. He feels fear start to cool in the centre of his body as his breathing picks up.

He walks slowly. Each step overly thought out and he silently hopes that every time his foot touches the ground that it doesn't make a sound.

“I missed you tonight.”

Foggy jumps and tenses, he swallows as he turns.

“I...” Foggy finds he can't form proper words. His heart slamming against his ribcage and slowly working its way into his throat as he watches the man standing there in the middle of his living room, looking more calm than he's ever seen him.

“I went home early.”

The Devil nods. “I figured as much.”

Foggy looks down and pulls his lips back between his teeth. He tries to calm his breathing by making each inhale an exhale longer and slower, but his heart refuses to get with the program.

“I can feel you are uncomfortable. I apologize, I should not have just let myself in.”

“No, it's ah...it's okay.”

The Devil tilts his head to the side. “Is it? Is it okay, Foggy?”

Foggy nods. “Yeah, of course it is.” Though he doesn’t sound convinced himself.

“Why must you lie to me, Foggy?”

“I'm not-” Foggy tries but his voice is wavering too much for him to sound genuine.

“Yes, you are.”

When the Devil begins walking forward, each step he takes sounds like a gunshot firing off. The echoes ringing in Foggy's ears until he goes deaf to the sound. He sees the mans boots as they step in front of him. Black and bulky. A hand touches his shoulder, and he looks up into black eyes.

There's something different about him. In this moment. His shoulder aren't tense, and from what Foggy can see of his face, his features are relaxed. His mouth isn't pulled into a hard line, nor is he smiling.

The hand on Foggy's shoulder tightens some, pulling in him forward. Within a second Foggy is pulled into the mans arms, held tightly and securely. The man nuzzles into Foggy, and his mouth finds Foggy's ear.

“Please don't fear me.”

\--

The Devil is kneeling in front of him, a few feet away. Foggy, as soon as the fight broke out, found himself backed in a corner. A corner the Devil is now trying to coax him out of with an organ. As if the offering of a liver is suppose to entice Foggy out of hiding and into the Devil's arms. Like a scared animal being lured out of hiding with food.

“I don't want that.” Foggy repeats, his voice just as hysterical as it was when he said it the first time.

The Devil tilts his head to the side and Foggy can only imagine wide eyes looking back back at him with no understanding. It's almost comical, the way his head sways from one side to the other, as if puzzled by Foggy's behaviour and not the fact that it took less than ten minutes for him to kill a gang of men, and then rip out an organ.

Well...several now.

It seems that he thinks Foggy is rejecting his offerings because he doesn't want that specific organ, but another.

When the Devil gives a sharp nod and drops the organ, and then turns back to the pile of bodies, Foggy practically yells at him to stop. He doesn't think he can take anymore of watching the man claw his way into their bodies and rip out their insides to get whatever it is he thinks Foggy wants

But he doesn't stop. He does, however, raise a hand and gestures 'one moment' to him.

“No no no no, please. No more. Please -”

He stick his hand into an already torn open chest. He fists upwards and Foggy holds back a noise of panic as the sounds over power his mantra of please and no. The sucking and snapping noises fill his ears as the sensation of vomit rising burns his throat. His eyes burn as the tears keep coming and it makes it harder to stop when the Devil begins humming. Low and somehow sweet as he works his hands in the mans body.

Foggy closes his eyes and hugs himself. Shivering out of fear and disgust, his skin feels both hot and cold as he tries to make sense of what was happening. And to him. Of all people the world could have given this man to, it had to be him. Was there something so wrong with wanting to live a normal, boring life as a lawyer with his best friend? Apparently, because here he is, witnessing several murders done by a man playing in blood and guts like a child does with dirt and sand.

After a kill, he's strange. Mind you, he's always strange down from the way he talks to how he moves and dresses. But he usually is put together, confident and tall in presence and demeanour.

But when he got like this, he was like a child. Mindless and in a state that makes him want to...please...if Foggy had to put a word on it. Like his kills were a drawing and Foggy was a parent and all he wanted for Foggy to see what he had done, smile, and tell him how nice it is and how proud of him he is.

To say that it leaves Foggy equally confused as he is horrified, is an understatement. Especially when the man acts as if he wasn't mumbling nonsense and offering up people to Foggy the next time they meet.

Foggy knows he knows though. It's in the air. That expectancy. Like he's always waiting for Foggy to pat him on the head. Waiting for Foggy to turn and smile and tell him he did a good job.

It twists Foggy's gut. Makes his head fog up with uncertainty and fear. Because he knows that he shouldn't think of this man in such a simple way. That he is complex and dangerous and his innocent demeanour could change and mean bad things for Foggy if he keeps refusing the man.

So when he opens his eyes again and sees that the Devil is closer to him, a heart held in his hands in offering, blood dripping off the sides of his hands and onto the pavement below; it's with shaky hands that Foggy reaches out and accepts his gift.

When the Devil smiles at him, and hums in happiness, Foggy ignores the feeling that explodes around his heart.

\--

“Hey, did you hear about this?” Karen asks from behind this mornings newspaper. Foggy looks up from his work and over to her, and his heart jumps when he sees the title.

**DEVIL TAKES NOT ONLY NAMES, BUT HEARTS AS WELL**

“Apparently, he killed them all and then just gutted the fuck out of this one dude. All of his organs are at the scene, with the exception of his heart. Creepy, huh?”

“Yeah. Creepy.” is all Foggy can bring himself to say. But his tone of voice causes Karen to look up. Their eyes meet and Karen looks puzzled and Foggy gives her a look. One that says, 'think about it'.

Karen looks between him and the newspaper in her hands a few times before realization breaks out over her face. “ _Oh_.” is all she says, eyes wide and eyebrows high.

Foggy nods.

She opens her mouth and takes in a deep breath, and again, all she says is, “ _Oh_.” but this time she shoves the newspaper down behind her desk and then to the floor. She shakes her hair back as she straightens in her seat. She places her hands on top of the desk.  
“So...how was your night.”

Foggy tells her, but leaves out the fact that he has the organ, wrapped and in a Tupperware container, sitting in his freezer.

\--

The sound of something moving around in his fire escape is too loud for him to ignore anymore, and he knows that if he doesn't go and scare away whatever bird or cat that is hanging around, that his neighbours will be knocking on his door in complaint.

So in a haze of sleep Foggy gets out of bed and walks to his balcony door. When he opens it, he sees a bird withering about. Its wing caught between one of the many metal pipes that make up the escape.

Slowly, Foggy makes his way over, not wanting to stress the creature out anymore than it already is. And, as carefully as he can, he gently grabs the wing in between his thumb and index fingers and slowly begins moving the wing out.

When Foggy frees its wing, it doesn't waste anytime getting out of there. The only sound it makes is a loud squawk as it flies away and blends into the sky.

“Most would have left it to die. Or even killed it.”

Foggy, startled, looks around in search for the body that goes with that voice, but soon gives up when he realizes that he isn't going to find him.

“I...I don't agree. I think most would do what they could to free it. Maybe even call for help.”

“Hmm. You believe so?”

“Yes.”

“What if its wing was broken and it could not fly? Would you have cared for it? Tended its wounds?”

Foggy swallows. “Yes. I would have done whatever I could until the vet opens in the morning, and then got it proper help.”

“But you do not know how to care for such a creature.”

“Good thing there's Google, right?”

He hears an amused chuckle and he finds himself looking for the man again, but this time, he's more subtle about it. Less head movement and more eye.

“It is in your nature to care.” The man says, and Foggy's brows crease and his eyes squint in caution as he listens, not liking that tone very much.

“I guess.”

Another amused chuckle and then, “No guessing. It is a fact. You care for those who are broken and wounded without want or thought for yourself.”

Foggy gives a forced, disbelieving laugh, feeling his skin prickle. “I am not that selfless.”

“No, you have wishes and desires, just like any one human does. It is natural. I too have them. But to me you are good. Pure, even.”

Foggy folds his arms over his chest and shifts back and forth, that type of praise leaving him feeling a bit uncomfortable and very much undeserving of it.

“I think 'pure' is too strong a word, wouldn’t you say?” he says with a small, uneasy laugh.

“No,” is whispered in his ear and the shock causes his arms to drop, giving the man open access to wrap his arms around Foggy and bury his face into his neck.

“Hi,” is all he can manage when the Devil stops moving them around and settles. He can feel the Devil smirk against his skin as he sways back and forth, head nuzzling Foggy neck and creating heat on his night chilled skin.

He hums into his neck. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Okay, I um...I think that's enough...praise, don't you think?”

And just like that, those same arms that were cuddling him spin him around, and firm hands push on his shoulders until he has no choice but to move back.

“ _Why?_ ” the man demands. His tone harsh as he hisses the word out.

The Devil walks forward until Foggy's back is pressed against the balcony, the bars ringing slightly as his back makes contact. He presses his hands flat against the mans chest, but the man pays the action no mind as he pushes against him, the movement causing the bars to creak.

“Answer my question.” he says, and Foggy swallows, feeling completely out of his depths. He shakes his head.

“I don't...I don't understand what you're asking me.”

The man presses forward again and tilts his head to the side, mouth open. His breathing is just as heavy as Foggy's, though Foggy can't imagine why. He's the one pinned to a less then sturdy structure made of cheap metal poles that won't take all this pushing for very much longer.

“Why do you not believe my words? Do you think them untrue?”

Foggy shakes his head, “No, I - ”

“Then what do you think them?”

Foggy blinks repeatedly and finds that he has no idea what he thinks of them. He finds them pretty and flattering and that he likes hearing them. Very much so. But there's a part of him that doesn't believe the man. Foggy likes to think of himself as a good person, who doesn't? But he also knows that he is no where close to the type of perfect this man is describing. No one is, and no one can be. He feels like the man has these standards for him in his mind that Foggy will never be able to fill, and hearing such pretty words makes him feel like a disappointment.

And he hates that. Hates that feeling of wanting to impress and be liked by the one man he shouldn't want approval from. From a man who kills without mercy or repent, and is mindless in his ministrations. But whenever he touches Foggy and kisses him with a surprising gentleness, Foggy can never seem to get his feelings straight.

“I don't know.” Foggy answers honestly.

The man removes his hands, but his body stays where it is. He reaches behind his head, his body arching slightly as he does, his face away from perfect view.

Foggy watches as his hands comes down, and in one, is a black cloth.

Foggy's breath catches in his throat as the fabric is released and flutters to the floor.

His attention is on the mans face now, and when he leans back into view, Foggy doesn't even try to suppress the gasp that leaves his throat.

Eyes as black as coal stare at him. Little fleck of white scattered throughout making it look as if the night itself is captured in his gaze. Foggy's eyes break away and look all over his face. Brown hair, eyebrows with a cut through the right one. Dark, intense circles under his eyes.

Freckles.

He's beautiful.

“Look into my eyes, and ask again if my words are false or misplaced.”

\--

Karen is looking at him. Her face is blank, but her eyes are calculating. Foggy just isn't sure if it's about what he's told her, or if it's about him and he's five seconds away from being emitted.

“You think...that 'The Devil of Hell's Kitchen'...is the actual devil.”

“Yes.”

“Like the literal devil.”

“Yeah.”

“Like Bible, fallen angel, snake, Eve eat the apple, Jesus tempting...devil.”

That gets a smile out of Foggy. He nods. “Yeah.”

“That's just insane.” Karen says as she watches Foggy stand up with a look of pure frustration, and starts pacing back and forth.

“His eyes, Karen. If you could have seen them. They were...” he trails off, not sure how to tell her that his eyes looked like the night without making himself sound like some love-sick fool spouting poetry.

“They could be contacts. You know,” she waves a hand over her face, “add to the whole effect.”

“But he covers his eyes. What's the point in putting in contacts if you're going to cover them up?”

Karen nods, conceding to his point, “That's true.” she mutters, “But, what if no matter what, he was going to do this reveal to you and planned it. It could be fake.”

Foggy sighs. “But it was just so real. There's something about them that just...”

“Transcends human possibility?”

“Yes!”

Karen laughs and Foggy slumps into his chair, crosses his arms over his desk and buries his head in them.

“I just want answers, you know?” Foggy says, though it comes out more like a whine. Karen nods as she pats his head.

After a moment she says, “What about church?”

Foggy scoffs.

“No, seriously. You want answers about the actual literal devil. Why not go to the one place that should know the story best?”

“I'm pretty sure the whole idea of church, is that you don't talk about the dude who is the supposed cause of people's sins.”

“Service is over now.” Karen says, with a look at her watch. “and as far as I know, the priest wouldn’t be doing anything. Maybe you could talk to him about it? I mean he might be able to help and can give you actual answers. And hey, no harm no foul, right?” Karen suggests with a shrug and Foggy finds himself agreeing with the idea. He shuts his laptop and gets up to grab his coat off the rack.

“You don't mind?”

She waves him off with a small smile. “Heh, no. I think I hold the fort down for an hour. I promise not to burn the building down with our shitty coffee maker.”

“I will bring you coffee on my way back.” Foggy promises, and with a smile, he's gone.

\--

Just like Karen had said, Mass was over. There were a few people here and there. Some walking around the alter, fixing and arranging candles and flowers. Cleaning, Foggy assumes. Getting the place ready for the next service.

There are a few stragglers. People sitting in the pews, a couple kneeling and muttering quietly to themselves as they pray with determination written all over their faces. Some just sat, still and quiet as they take in the peace they can only find here.

Foggy wonders how many of them weren't at Mass. He wonders how many people can't bring themselves to face the large crowd, and settle for their own silent meditation among the more mundane functions of the church.  

He finds the Father sitting in a second row pew. His eyes closed, a look of concentration on his face.

Foggy feels bad about wanting to disturb him and thinks about leaving before he decided that he really needs answers.

“Hi,” he says a bit awkwardly, but it does the job in getting the mans attention. “Sorry to uh, bother you. But uh...I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?” he takes a seat in the set of pews behind the man, wanting to put a bit of distance between them.

“Of course.” He turns in his pew to look at Foggy. “What is troubling you, my child?”

“I uh,” Foggy says, slotting his fingers together, unsure of where to start or even how to start this conversation. When Karen had suggested talk to a priest, it seemed like a really good idea. And it still is, because it make sense for what he's looking for. But now that he's here, talking about this seems rather silly. Almost childish, in a way. Whispering to an old man about the evil bad guy who hides under his bed.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions...about the devil.”

The man raises an eyebrow. Foggy ignores his look as best he can and continues with what he has to say before he chickens out.

“Do you think it's possible for the devil to be on earth?”

The man looks at him for a another moment before, “In the same sense we believe God is here on earth with us, you mean?”

“No, like physically. As an actual person.”

Father is quiet for a moment. “Does this by any chance have to do with the cities very own Devil?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, seeing no purpose in lying. “But not in the obsessed fan way. More like the paranoid and worried kind of way.”

Father nods. “Many have come to me expressing worry and fear of this man. This isn't an unusual topic of - ”

“I saw his eyes,” he says, cutting Father off. His words seem to startle the man because he's immediately pinned with a look of partial disbelieve and open curiosity.

“You know him well then, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, though he now feels unease. It must show on his face because the Fathers features smooth out and he offers a small, if not strained, smile.

“Don't worry, Mr. Nelson. You've come to me in confidence and I am not looking to cause you any trouble.”

Foggy nods, relieved.

“As long as you don't cause me trouble.” and that makes Foggy laugh, and when the man offers him a more sincere smile, Foggy feels like he can do this.

\--

“Do you feel unsafe when you are with me.” The voice that asks is dull. Foggy would say bored if he didn't know any better. This isn't boredom or passiveness. He's upset and hurt and the way that knowledge leaves Foggy reaching for anything to make those feelings go away no longer startles him as much as it once did, but still leaves him feeling eerily unsettled.

“No,” Foggy says, and he finds that it's the truth. He does feel safe whenever the man is near. Mind you, it's a kind of bastardized version of safe. His skin still crawls whenever he sees blood painted over the mans mouth and each touch make him shiver for reasons he isn't exactly clear on anymore.

But he does feel safe.

“Then why seek out the assistance of a Holier kind?”

Foggy feels a bit taken back. He doesn’t want to think about how he knew about his visit with the Father, especially since it was in the middle of day when he would be safe to talk about what he needed to, without the worry of startling and scandalizing some old lady.

“I had some questions and I figured there they'd have answers.” Foggy answers honestly, not wanting to upset the man with half truths or lies and risk provoking something.

“And did you find the answers you wanted.”

“No. Maybe. Not really.”

“Well, which on is it?”

Foggy ignores that, and instead says, “How about you give me the answers I want.”

The Devil hums. “I see your talk with the Father has made you more bold. Or, are you finally tapping into that heady confidence of yours that you keep locked up so tight?”

“It's not locked up.” Foggy protests.

“Yes it is. You don't want to harm people with things like an ego or being brutally right. So you carefully tuck it all away until the occasion calls for it. Like in court. And may I say how delightful it is to witness. Just delicious.”

Okay, what.

“Witness? Court? You've been in the jury before? You've done jury duty?” Foggy asks, unsure of which question he wants answered the most. He feels his mind reeling, trying to match the face he saw the other night to ones he's seen while in court.

“I've seen you before, haven't I?”

The Devil hums again and Foggy takes that as a yes.

“Look, this isn't question Foggy time, it's question you time.” Foggy says, shaking his head, not really wanting the headache that is bound to happen if he keeps thinking about this new information.

“You're human?”

No answer.

“And your eyes - ”

“I'm afraid there isn't much I can tell you about my appearance considering I have no time for such thing.”

Foggy frowns. Doesn't have time for it? Foggy is very positive everyone has time for it. Whether they admit it or not, everyone worries over appearance. Frets over it in windows and mirrors throughout the entire day. Worries if their outfit looks good to others or if their jacket ties the ensemble together.

But then he wonders if it has anything to do with that he thinks the man is.

And then he thinks about his eyes. How they were so dark and unlike anything he's ever seen. The intensity of it all and how they seemed to look past everything and could see into his very soul, but at the same were glossy in a way that suggested he was also unseeing. Able to see everything and nothing at the same time. Like some sort of party trick.

Seeing and unseeing...

It takes Foggy a minute to get what is thoughts are telling him, and when he does he looks at where the other mans eyes would be underneath the cloth covering them, squinting. “Wait...you're blind? But how can you...?”

“I _feel_ , Foggy.” and suddenly the man is behind him, and, just like always, is pressing up against him as if trying to merge their bodies as one. His arms coming around to wrap Foggy up in their embrace, the man shamelessly plastering his entire self to Foggy.

With his mouth pressed against the shell of Foggy's ear, the Devil whispers, “Tell me about them. What do they look like to you? How do they make you feel?”

\--

The protests begin a week before Halloween. When the first Halloween after the Devil came to Hell's Kitchen was ruined by delinquents and horrors that kept children scared well past Christmas, people took to the streets and made it be known that such things wouldn't be allowed to happen again.

Which then turned into a week long occasion dedicated to calling out the Devil himself.

Furious mothers with megaphones shouting phrases that are yelled back with confidence and power by others. People waving and holding signs and posters over their heads as they march along the streets of the city. The protest covered by all media in New York.

Foggy gets it. They're scared, everyone is and they have every single right to be. And that these protests are a way to give themselves the illusion of power. It makes them feel like they are active in fighting for the well-being of the city. Making a difference.

Which would honestly be much more effective if they didn't disperse after a week, not be be seen or heard again until next year.

But the reality of the situation is that there isn't anything any of them can do about the cities situation. That the Devil made his home in Hell's Kitchen. His claws are now dug deep into the cities flesh, and no matter how long and hard they scream, he's not letting go.

\--

“It was minor. Apparently no one was hurt, or anything of major importance ruined. It was out before it even really started.”

Last night, there was a fire at the church. This morning, four dead.

\--

“I seriously just want my fucking coffee.” Karen practically growls when yet another person bumps shoulders with her as they walk down the sidewalk. Today is Halloween, and even though by now the streets have thinned and there aren't nearly as many people as there as been all week, it's still busy as all hell.

“Just around the corner.” Foggy assures her, managing to squeeze her hand in comfort despite the death grip she has it in.

“Good, and we're not leaving. I am not subjecting us to this again.”

They arrive at the coffee shop and no one suffers Karen's wrath. They wait, order, pay and find a table tucked away in a corner for some privacy.

Karen opens the lid to her coffee, and the subtle smell of pumpkin spice drift up and fills the air between them.

\--

The sound of children laughing follows him inside. With a sigh, he locks the door and toes his shoes off, dropping his bag onto the floor next to the door. As he passes the table, he drops his keys, and stops when he steps on something.

He looks down and sees that the thing he stepped on is a cloth. He reaches down and picks it up, confused, but it soon turns to alarm when he recognizes it despite how badly ripped it is. He looks down at the ground and his eyes follow the drag of blood that his brain suddenly notices, the blood somehow everywhere, yet leading to only one thing.

When he sees the body lying in the middle of his living room, his insides freeze in fear and panic. He looks at the cloth and then back to the body and...

He hates himself when his thought is about how hard it'll be to get all this out of his carpet.

When the man moans in what Foggy is a billion percent certain is pain, he rushes over, dropping to his knees, hands hesitant and unsure as they hover over the mans body.

And it's bad. Foggy fights back the urge to state that as his eye trail over the gashes and straight up chunks taken out of the mans skin. His skin is covered in dried and fresh blood, cuts varying in size and length and very much depth, all over his body. Bruises of various colours and stages. He looks as if someone ran him over with their car several times, and then put him through a meat grinder for good measure.

Foggy finds himself wanting to touch some of the wounds. Especially the ones where the skin is so far apart from itself that Foggy is certain he could fit several fingers in if he wanted.

He instead reaches over and touches the mans face, probably the only thing that isn't overly horrible. The man moans again, and Foggy goes to pull his fingers back, but is stopped by a surprisingly fast hand and a strong grip.

“Foggy...” the Devil breathes out and Foggy has no idea what he's feeling or thinking with that tone. He wonders if he even can, or if the man is in so much pain that it's all he thinks and feels.

“Are you dying?” Foggy whispers. His voice rough and wet, tears tracking down his face as he looks intently at the other man.

After a truly horrifying moment of watching blood gurgle in the mans throat and slip out of his mouth so he can speak, the Devil manages to say, “No. Only if you want me to.”

Foggy's eyebrows crease together in confusion. “What?”

The Devil smiles a slow smile at him. His black eyes blinking lazily as he looks in Foggy's general direction.

“My life is in your hands.”

Foggy repeats his confusion and feels anger bubbling up when the Devil laughs again, leaving Foggy without explanation, stranded in the dark without a clue. A clue that he could really use at moment because he was no way prepared to find what he first thought was a dead body, lying in the middle of his living room, bleeding all over his carpet.

“First-aid kit,” he says in a hushed panic, “I need the first-aid kit.” He stands up and rushes to the other side of the room and rummages around in the hall closet for the one he knows is there somewhere.

“Which will not help you, pretty much, at all because you are totally dying, and I don't think band-aids and butterfly stitches are going to fix shit!” he says half to the Devil and half to himself.

“Foggy...Foggy, stop.” he hears over his movement. His voice is raw and practically gone, but Foggy hears him all the same and it sparks new flairs of panic before he finally gets his hands on that red and white case.

He turns in time, but is stopped dead in his tracks by the sight now before him. Thirty seconds, maybe even a minute he spent away and he knew that each second counted. That he needed to get the man some kind of help before he had a dead body on his hands.

But now he watches with wide, horrified eyes as the man is somewhat and somehow standing, more like sagging against his counter top, holding one of his kitchen knives in as strong a grip as he can manage, pressing the tip against his chest.

“What are you doing?” Foggy whispers, his skin becoming washed in cold chills as he watches, stuck where he stands.

Then, without answer, the Devil plunges the knife into his chest.

“What are you doing!?” Foggy shrieks and he feels his legs give in from complete shock.

He doesn't get an answer. Instead the man's entire focus is on his task.

Foggy's stomach rolls and he gags a few times as he watches as the man carefully carves a circle in his own chest. “Oh god.” he gasps out when the man begins whining in pain, the look on his face almost too much to witness as he connects the cut.

He throws the knife to the side and it lands with a thud somewhere on the other side of the room. He falls to his knees and he grunts at the impact, the sound muffled in the back of his throat, his teeth pressed tightly together and jaw tense.

Then he claws his hand and begins tearing at his chest.

“Stop it! STOP IT!” Foggy yells over and over again, but just like before, he's ignored. He wants to get up and stop him. To rip his hands away and hold them to him. Pull him into his arms and cry as he rocks the man back and forth until he sleeps.

The Devil collapses with a pained huff. His breathing is loud and hoarse as he tries to position himself in a way that would help ease the pain some. Foggy feels drained. His body doesn't feel real, and his mind is so blurred that if he wasn't positive this was happening to him here and now, he thinks he could possible convince himself that he is having some horrific dream.

Foggy watches him for another second, before crawling his way over.

He kneels next to the man, and he hesitates when he sees the giant hole the man carved into his own chest. His heart still beating as it rests in its cavity.

“Take it.”

Foggy's eyes go from the hole, to his face. His eyes are somehow dim. The blackness less sharp and now dull in colour, but just as intense as they bore into Foggy's.

“Take it.” he repeats. His expression calm and a half smile on his lips.

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can. It is yours. Take it.”

“No, I won't. You'll die.”

The Devil gives a weak laugh at that, a tear slipping down his cheek as he does. Foggy thumbs it away and he feels his heart clench when the man moves into the touch.

“Everything will be okay. Take what is rightfully yours, Foggy.”

He doesn't give Foggy another second to think or protest. With his own hands he grabs Foggy's and brings them to the opening in his chest. Foggy gasps and fresh tears prick at his eyes as he feels the warmth on his fingertips, the feel of blood coating them.

He can't help but watch in a twisted fascination as the organ beats steadily against the tips of his fingers. The feel of it is surreal as the mans fingers work with Foggy's hands, making it easier for Foggy to slip his fingers underneath and hold it. The organs beating picks up as he cups it. His arms feel like lead when he knows he has to pull and lift it up. That that is what's expected of him, and is this mans last wish. Foggy knows that doing this, in a sense, would make him a killer. But he also knows that the man may as well be dead already.

“Do you feel that?” The Devil asks.

Foggy nods, and the Devil smiles.

“That is what you do to me.”

Foggy feels like he's been punched, all of the air in his lungs escaping at once causing his breathing to pick up into that of panic.

“All this time...I have been trying to find the perfect one for you. Since I knew mine was tainted and rotten due to who I am. But - ”

“It's perfect,” Foggy whispers, harsher than he intended, but true all the same. He looks down at the organ. How it beats so strong and steadily in his hands. Blood pooling around and over it, before leaving the man and covering the floor.

He leans down and places a kiss on the mans lips. There isn't much response, Foggy wasn't expecting one at all. But he feels the man press back and a hand brush lightly on his waist. Weak fingers squeezing as his lips move against Foggy's. When he pulls back, the mans eyes are closed, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Take it.” and Foggy does with a sob that racks his entire body. The sudden pull causes his eyes to flash open, but the smiles stays in place. A look of peace settles on his face, and Foggy watches as he begins to laugh. He looks at the heart and then to the Devil, confusion breaking its way through the haze of emotions.

“Thank you, darling.” he says in a whisper, and when Foggy feels a small smile forming on his own lips, the Devil closes his eyes.

His body stills and Foggy cries.

\--

He keeps the organ in a chest on his side table next to his bed. One of those nice ones found at the antique shop. It's black and rusted with faded gold detailing.

Foggy thinks it suits the owner just right.

It still beats. Sometimes, if it's quiet enough, Foggy can hear the soft thumping. It's lulled him to sleep more than once.

\--

The Devil is still out there. He doesn't know Foggy anymore. Their paths never cross, but Foggy reads about his deeds in the morning paper and part of him wishes he could see him again. Hold his head to his neck. Kiss him again. Maybe tell him that, in the only way he can be, he's proud.

\--

The days grow colder and longer. Winter now biting at their heels as citizens walk blindly down the side walks. Heads bent in order to avoid face fulls of snow.

\--

Foggy closes his apartment door with a tired sigh. He locks and chains it before toeing his shoes off. He walks into the living room as he loosens his tie, but stops when he sees a white box siting on his coffee table. He frowns, not remembering his landlord mentioning he'd be stopping by, or anything about a package being delivered.

He walks over to it and gently brushes his fingers across the top.

He finds his name written on the package, and with the feeling of hope blossoming in his chest, he opens it.

When he sees what's inside, he laughs. He laughs until there are tears in his eyes and pain in his stomach.

\--

 

 

 

_Happy Anniversary_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Pirates 3 for like the billionth time, and I got this idea. I shit you not.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! School starts back up again in a few days and I have a very heavy term, so I'm not sure when I'll update again. Probably October, preferably sooner. But I promise I will have something in time for Halloween! 
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Romance Macabre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481062) by [sunkelles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles)




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